


Sunday Morning

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-09-13
Updated: 2002-09-13
Packaged: 2018-11-20 05:09:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11329224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: The boys, doing what people do on Sunday morning (or so I believe.  But what would I know?)





	Sunday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Sunday Morning

## Sunday Morning

#### by Alison

Date: Sunday, July 21, 2002 6:51 AM 
    
    
     Sunday Morning by Alison
     Feedback: Yes please!
     Email: 
     Web Page: http://netjeru.ma-at.net/SurrealArts/Annex.html
     Category:  Slash, Langly/Byers 
     Rating:   NC/17
     Status:   Complete:  PWP
     Disclaimer: Not mine, etc
     Archive:   Lone Slasher, Basement, WWOMB, Gossamer,
     Ephemeral;  anywhere else, just ask
     Summary:  The boys, doing what people do on Sunday 
     morning (or so I believe.  But what would I know?)
    

* * *

Langly POV 

It's Sunday morning, eight a.m. and I'm fucking John into total oblivion. 

Let me make this clear, it's with his total co-operation and enthusiasm. At least, after I'd given him sufficient encouragement. 

To begin at the beginning . . . ten minutes ago he woke me up getting out of bed. "Sneaking" out of bed would be more like it, he knows I have only one thing on my mind first thing in the morning and so does he . . only we differ in what it is. First thing for Johnboy is his morning shot of caffeine. First thing for me is I wanna fuck - THEN I want my coffee. So, when I felt him slide away from me as I woke up, I knew where he was going. 

I watched him pad across the bedroom, walking softly so as not to wake me. Naked and graceful, his skin gleaming in the half light probing through the curtains, his back to me, the muscles in his back and shoulders sliding smoothly under the skin, his gorgeous ass turned to me as he bent down to pick up his boxers off the floor. 

When did I ever resist a challenge like that? I caught up with him before he got to the bedroom door. My arms went round his body, pinning his arms by his sides as I pulled him close, moulding my body to him and feeling his heat. I felt him jump and tense slightly, then relax and a soft laugh shook him. He knows me so well by now. He leaned his weight back against me and turned his head towards me. "Morning, Ringo." 

I decide I want to play rough. "Just where do you think you were going, buddy?" I let a rasp enter my voice, almost a growl. I bite none too gently on the top of his shoulder. "You don't get out of bed without MY permission, understand?" 

I feel him shiver and I know I've won. He'll go along with me . . . and by the time I've finished with him, he'll want it my way, just the way I wanna give it to him. 

I underestimated him . . . he doesn't need much persuasion at all. He turns to face me and pulls me in for that first morning kiss. Sometimes, most times it's gentle, loving, but today we both have a devil in us. Right here, right now, we just wanna fuck. Yeah,John has a wild streak too, you just have to know how to find it. 

I shove myself against him hard, pushing him against the wall so hard the breath is forced from him in an "oooof", and he grabs one deep breath before I push his head back against the wall and kiss him hard. We struggle, greedily taking and giving, the heat building up between us. 

I step back and drag him with me, back to the bed. He's coming willingly, but I still wanna drag him. He knows and he lets me, lets me push him hard so he falls on his back on the bed, lets me throw myself down on top of him and pin him to the bed, my hands gripping his wrists tightly above his head. I straddle him, breathing hard, my erection throbbing hotly. His eyes shift from my cock to my face, his gaze holding mine. We don't have to talk; he gives a tiny nod, his mouth curving in that secret smile. 

I shift back and off him, getting into position. He spreads his legs for me and I push them up and apart, my fingers digging into the muscles of his inner thighs. Skin so soft . . . he hooks his legs over my shoulders and I take a moment to run my hands up and down his thighs, savouring the satiny skin, the hard tenseness of the muscles under the skin. His cock is hard too, and I turn my attention to it, stroking up and down, teasing. He sucks in a deep gasp, such an erotic sound it makes me even harder. I want to be inside him right now, and I slide my fingers into him, finding him ready, a little tightness, a little resistance but he relaxes his muscles as I probe deeper. 

Neither of us have said another word. 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. I know his signs, I know he's ready. I take my cock in one hand and push forward quickly. Quick and hard . . . there's something about doing it like this, fast, filling him quickly, deep as I can get inside him. 

He shudders and his mouth falls open, his eyes pop in amazement. Yes, you like it like this too, don't you Johnny, you like me to treat you rough sometimes . . . I draw back and thrust in again hard and he cries out involuntarily. His hands grope blindly for mine, grab and squeeze tight. I take his signal and thrust again. 

Hard in again, again, again, panting with effort. No sound except our breathing, getting more and more ragged. His head is rolling from side to side on the pillow like a fever victim. His eyes are squeezed tight shut,his mouth open baring his teeth in a snarl. Nearly there . . . the pressure building, building . . . he's coming too . . . harder, harder, yes, yes, YES! 

* * *

He's limp under me, totally quiescent, as I peel myself off him, our bodies sticky with sweat and come. I ease myself out and survey him as he lies there sleeping. Sprawled on his back, head on one side , his chest still heaving. One arm is hanging off the side of the bed, his fingers dangling limply. His legs still spread exactly as I left him, the muscles in his thighs still quivering with after-tremors. 

I just stand and look at him in pride and smug satisfaction. Not bad, Langly. Not bad at all. 

Now I want my coffee. 

I dress quickly, finding a teeshirt and my old jeans. No clean boxers. . never mind. I slide my jeans up over my bare ass, strocking my cock affectionately as I tuck in and zip up. Feels so good . . slightly scratchy denim against my ass and snug against my balls. 

I head out, locking the door behind me. Starbucks, here I come. 

* * *

Driving down to Starbucks, I find myself thinking about John again. Just knowing that he's there, lying the way I left him when I'd finished with him, unconscious, vulnerable . . . mine. Just knowing I can sit and have my coffee and he's there, back at the HQ, five minutes drive away, ready for whatever I want to do to him when I get back . . 

* * *

Don't get me wrong, I love Starbucks. Only why does it take so long to get served? 

There's about four people in line in front of me. I'm standing there looking at them while I'm waiting and wondering, how many of them have just had a fantastic fuck? How many of them have the most gorgeous guy with the hottest ass, even now sleeping it off in their bed and waiting for them to get back? Waiting for them to get back and do it again . . . 

Next thing I know someone taps me on the shoulder and I come back to the present. The guy behind me is whining something about why don't I wake up, already, and the barista is looking at me impatiently. 

I take my mocha with whipped cream and park my butt on a stool by the window while I scoop the cream off the top. I have this thing about eating the cream off the top first before it melts, bit by bit, rich and thick and white . . . just like Johnny's come splashing over me just now . . . 

And instantly I'm getting hard again just thinking about it, my cock beginning to throb again and press painfully against my zipper. Waiting for me . . . lying just as I left him sprawled across my bed . . . ready . . . I could walk right back in now, peel off my jeans and shove straight back into him, he'd be slick still, wet . . . 

I take one long gulp of coffee and set it down, leave it on the counter top and walk out of there. I want something better. Right now. 

* * *

I don't QUITE break the speed limit getting back to the HQ, but it's a close thing. All the way back I have this image of him in my head, it's like he's so close I can touch him. I can feel him, the satin smoothness of his skin against mine, the taste of him on my lips, the smell of him in my nostrils. I want him NOW! 

Fumbling with the locks outside, I drop the keys twice. I'm so hard, when I bend down to pick them up I yelp in pain as the zipper pinches me. Goin' commando has its disadvantages . . . up the stairs, two at a time. Two strides to the bedroom door. And yes, ohthankyou god, he hasn't moved an inch. Still draped across the bed in the most incredibly wanton, erotic posture. I thought I was aroused before, but I find another gear. Jesus, I'm not gonna be able to get these jeans off . . 

About a hundred years later I win the battle of the zipper and another minor battle when I realise I forgot to take my sneakers off first. My cock is standing up flat against my stomach, ready for action as I crawl onto the foot of the bed, whispering his name. 

He mumbles something that might be "hey", half awake, as I stroke my hands up his thighs. I place my hands on his chest, stilling him. It's important that he doesn't move. I run my hands possessively all over his body, down his chest, over his stomach, digging my fingers into the hollow by his hipbone. I know every inch of him by now, but it still excites me like the first time, every time. 

His eyes flutter half open as I press myself against him, skin to skin. I pull his face round to mine and kiss him, and yes, he tastes so good. Our mouths join, mingling, tasting each other, loving each other. 

I push myself upright and lift his legs again. He grins sleepily and it's almost like he knows what I've been thinking all along. Instant replay . . . and I slide in again. And the feel of it, the feel of him when it's exactly what I've been thinking about for so long . . it blows my mind. So intoxicating, I shudder all over. 

I feel his thighs tighten on my shoulders, his internal muscles squeeze me and it's like putting your foot down on the gas in a powerful car. Power rushes through me and I just HAVE to push, gasping my need. Again and again, and he's calling me, urging me, demanding I thrust harder. I take a deep breath and pull myself up straight, supporting my weight on my hands planted each side of his body, regaining control again, shift my position just a bit and thrust hard. THAT's the spot . . . and he shrieks. 

GOD that feels good! Lunging fiercely into the core of him, into his incredible heat, I feel like I've never buried myself so deeply in him before. And he feels it too, he's letting out noises I've never heard him make before, incredible anguished desperate whimpers every time I plunge into him. Harder, harder . . .yes, that's it . . . one, two, three and I'm nearly there too . . . hold on, hold on, c'mon John, just one more . . . YES! 

He doesn't have breath left to scream. All I hear is a strangled gasp and I feel his thighs tighten against my chest. I fall forward as my final thrust sends me over the edge too and I fall into the dark. 

* * *

This time he's the first to recover. I hear his voice, sounding like it's coming from a long way away. "Ringo? Ringo?" He's propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at me and sounding way, way too chipper for someone who's just been fucked senseless twice inside half an hour. "So, where'd you go, Ringo?" 

"Nnhhhhhh . . . Starbuck's." 

"Great! Where's my latte?" 

Latte?? Er . . . 

**END**

* * *

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